Lucas The Vegetable Slayer
by Bokaj Rellim
Summary: Join Father Lucas the crazed priest as he travels throughout Fairview on a quest to wipe all vegetables from existence. Based on a true story. No really.
1. Prologue

**Oh man. I'm quite aware of the fact that I probably shouldn't be starting ANOTHER fic before I even done with the other two I have to work on, especially considering my lack of a work ethic. However, I had an idea for something, and it was too unbelievably amazing to pass up.**

**Now then. Dead Frontier is a pretty serious game. It's story is serious, the gameplay is serious**, **the community usually plays pretty seriously from what I can tell. There's a serious (lol) lack of humor and dumbfuckery. So I sat down and said to myself, "How can I take this serious game and make something hilariously awesome out of it?"**

**So don't expect anything serious, despite what this prologue leads you to believe. I'm a humor/parody writer at heart after all, and I'm just warming up with an opening serious enough to be a parody of the fact that I'm writing a parody. Or something like that. I dunno. El-oh-eh.**

**Although if you couldn't tell the lack of serious in the story when you read the title, there's probably no hope for you.  
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**I'll explain how this fic came about later. If I explained it all now, it would ruin all the fun.  
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**Also, feel free to point out anything out of the actual storyline behind the game that I managed to fuck up somehow. I'm too lazy to bother actually reading the storyline, and I'm too much of an asshole to care to. Anybody should already know that by now, and I imagine you'll all get over it.**

**But seriously, you point something out to me and I'll fix it. I'm not THAT much of an asshole.**

**As always, praise me as your god if you want, flame me if you wish. If spamming my email with the F-Bomb over and over is your thing, feel free to do that too. I don't read my email more than once a month anyway.  
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**With that being said:  
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**_DISCLAIMER:_ I don't own anything Dead Frontier related except for the only actual character that makes an appearance in this little opening. Just wanted to make that clear.**

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

It was just about dusk.

A peculiar man walked down a city street barren of living humans, save for himself.

The street itself was cluttered with miscellaneous vehicles, some of which were flipped over, on fire, or otherwise the victim of a horrible accident. Some of them might have been positioned in such a manner on purpose to provide some sort of temporary cover at one point, although the times where big vehicles were commonly used were long gone by now. There was also the occasional corpse, a gruesome reminder of the vile abominations that now shuffled throughout the city, and most (if not all) of the world. All in all, it was a rather average street, albeit quite devoid of the usual presence of the infected. Of course, as everyone knows, things could change quite rapidly.

This single man continued his trek forward.

A casual description of his condition would leave most people with the image of the average survivor. A worn out coat, some tattered jeans, covered in dirt and grime. The usual. That's about all that was average about him however. Underneath his lame excuse of a coat was what was left of some sort of religious garments that would have looked quite at home in a church. Not that any of those were still active anymore. Not as commonly seen to be sure, but definitely not out of place. What was more abnormal was the large battle axe held strapped to his back with some poorly fitted straps of leather that were probably haphazardly taken from somewhere insignificant. He had no guns on him to speak of, which in the minds of most (living) survivors was pure insanity. There was definitely a glint of something chaotic in his eyes however, so perhaps they weren't that far from the truth.

He continued to walk down the street, with unknown purpose driving him forward in the direction of Fort Pastor, and there was a strangely discomforting lack of infected, as he continued his journey completely and utterly unopposed.

...

It was already night when he reached the outskirts of the outpost.

"No sign of the enemy yet..." he murmured to himself.


	2. Guard Duty

**Okay, been awhile since I had the chance to write something, because of college and stuff. Sure, I write almost every day and all. It's just that it's all writing for a boring class I'd rather not take if I didn't need it to meet general education requirements. Anyway, I don't really know what else to say here, and I don't have anything to rant about for a change. (Crazy, I know!)**

**I have to say though, I really enjoyed writing this. It was super fun.  
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**So let's just get to it then.**

**_DISCLAIMER: _This is a disclaimer. Pretend I bothered to look like I care about saying DF doesn't belong to me.__**

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><p><strong>OUTSKIRTS OF FORT PASTOR – 9:30 PM (Going by Sherwin's last announcement)<strong>

Two men stood nearby the only open entrance into the (relative) safety of the outpost. One of them was carrying an unidentifiable assault rifle (Seriously, the thing had the crap modded out of it. I don't even know if you could call it an assault rifle anymore. I mean, last time I checked, assault rifles didn't barf heat-seeking mini rockets. Of course, this particular weapon didn't shoot rockets at all, let alone heat-seeking ones, so I have no idea what the hell I'm talking about. By modded I meant that it was just pink. Hot pink. Tacky hot pink. Why the hell would anyone want a hot pink assault rifle? Not a clue, just roll with it.), while the other seemed to be carrying nothing but a wooden baseball bat. The man with the baseball bat had it slung over his shoulder, while wearing a pair of smudged shades, leaning against a fence, trying to look all cool and bad-ass.

Although he was already a bad-ass. It's just that nobody notices your bad-assery unless you're also cool. Which is something he happened to lack. And no amount of cool-kid leaning on inanimate objects was going to help him any. In fact, in the long run, it would probably just lead to back problems.

But he doesn't need to know that.

Anyway, these two fine fellows were standing guard, doing things guard standing guard do. Like lean on things, call each other names, and pick their noses. Not as in picking each other's noses, because that would just be creepy.

For now on, up until they get a proper introduction with names, we'll just call them Pinky and Cool Kid.

It was a pretty calm night. There hadn't been any major zombie-related issues. Sure there was that one infected that somehow found a skateboard, learned how to ride it somewhat, and then charged at Pinky at full speed while riding it, but that was more of an annoyance, since it hit a loose rock and flung itself head-first into the side of a building and died from brain injury. Not all infected are created equally, and I guess some of them just have skulls that rival a wad of soggy toilet paper.

Then Pinky picked up the sound of shuffling footsteps coming from the muggy darkness that surrounded the outpost (And pretty much every single other place in the world that didn't have some sort of lighting at 9:30 in the night).

"Heey, you hear that?" Pinky said, daring not to look over at his current partner.

"Yeah," said Cool Kid, "Doesn't sound like one of them damn mutants though. Sounds like boots or something."

"But this late at night I doubt there would still be someone dumb enough to stay that far outside. Unless…OH MY GOD! WHAT IF THEY LEARNED HOW TO WEAR SHOES? WE'RE DOOMED! DOOMED I TELL YA!"

Cool Kid slapped his partner across the face. "Get it together man. Bad shit always happens if you don't keep your cool!"

Pinky calmed down just enough to see the outline of a human-shaped figure in the inky darkness.

"Oh Christ! It's here, right in front of us!" Pinky readied his gun, ready to shoot the entity full of metallic death.

"Cool it! Hold up a bit," Cool Kid demanded. He then turned towards the advancing figure. "If you understand, stop right where you are. Come any closer and this guy will reform your body into swiss cheese. "

"God damnit! I finally forgot about that stuff, and you bring it up again! DON'T TALK ABOUT FOOD I'LL NEVER GET TO EAT AGAIN!"

"Uh, whoops. Sorry 'bout that."

The human-shaped figure stopped without a sound.

"Oh. So you do understand, huh? Well I have to make sure you're not some super intelligent deathbringing zombie dude and all, so bear with me here." Cool Kid paused for a moment to think of a suitable task. "Wave for me."

The human-shape waved one of its appendages. More than likely its arm. Well hopefully its arm.

"Right. Uh, roll over."

"Dude, this thing isn't some pet dog or something," mentioned Pinky.

"Oh, right. Uh. I knew that. Erm, do an interpretive dance for me. I think that should verify things."

"What if it's a ballerina zombie or something?"

"Wait, they have those?"

"Hell if I know."

The human-shaped figure just shrugged.

"No idea how to dance? Me either. At least we ruled out you being a ballerina zombie."

"Just say something," declared Pinky.

"Damn. Why didn't I think of that?"

"Can I come in now?" said the mysterious entity.

"There, problem solved." Said Pinky.

Cool Kid turned to look at his partner. "Wait. How do you go from flip-out mode to calm, collected, intelligent mode so fast like that?"

"Oh," Pinky blinked. "I guess you're right. I didn't even notice."

"No really," said the mysterious entity. "Standing in the dark is starting to get annoying."

"Oh! Oh, right!" exclaimed Pinky, who had completely forgotten about the mysterious entity standing in the darkness. "Come on, come on."

Out of the darkness walked a priest, carrying nothing but the battle axe strapped to his back.

"Oh shit," said Cool Kid, "We left a priest waiting in the dark like that. We're so totally going to hell."

"BOINNG! BOINNG! THE CURRENT TIME IS 20:00!"

END CHAPTER 1


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